The human spirit. Degraded through apathy, its innocence destroyed, our innermost is a changed beast. No longer does it seek out others, to actively take their burdens. It walks its wide path with no hindrances, its head down. This I believed until one day downtown, when the entire world stopped for one girl and an extremely misfortunate cat.

Heat pounded down in tangible waves, then, burned you again as it radiated off the blacktop asphalt that stretched out in expanse at Troost Elementary. This brick building dominated a skyline composed of two-story dilapidated houses, though, for its size, it was very easy for the surrounding community to forget it was there. I had arrived with paintbrush in hand, song in my heart, to help rejuvenate this cultural center, that is, until word reached its confines that the goodness of the human spirit was needed elsewhere.

Two blocks away cliché had taken to the trees in order to take our hearts. A girl stood starry-eyed beneath the stretching limbs, her face tear tracked. Up above a frazzled bird swooped in between the branches, obviously perturbed by some unidentified intrusion, and there he was. An insurmountable distance separated us from the twitching tail that hung a little too coolly for the dire situation.

We were grouped below, like firemen with a tarp, egging on a jump into our outstretched arms, though, if I remember correctly, no one there spoke feline and our message fell upon deaf ears.

“We should have brought a ladder,” genius 1 said.

By this time Sparkles (we had been told he was not “just” a cat) had attracted the attention of a couple neighbors, most notably a hotheaded young boy. We were still in debate on how long or how many ladders it would take when he decided to announce that he was a natural hero, ready to take on the most deadly of situations. Naturally, danger like this sought him out.

“I'll just climb up,” he nonchalantly declared.

And there he went. One branch, two branches; he made methodical progress until he smiled back over his shoulder at us. The smile disappeared. It seemed as though our hero had forgotten he was afraid of heights, the downfall of many a champion. Our plan was quickly revised to rescuing two.

By this time the whole block was awake to the fact that a tree was drawing quite some attention. Word spread about the cat caught in its limbs, along with Dylan (this second bit of news didn't seem to be nearly as surprising as it should have been). Now the neighbors came out in a flood, along with the free advice that accompanied them.

“Ya shoulda brought a ladder,” genius 2 advised.

Maybe we should have. It was my job to run back to the school and grab the tallest one we had. It was an aluminum stretcher that was speckled with paint and held together, in parts, by the competent bonds of duct tape. My return was heralded by the cheers of, now, twentysome people; the entire block was out to witness.

The ladder was fully extended and leaned up against the tree, it's metal fingers trying to outreach the timbered limbs. Its metallic echo rang out just a little past Dylan, though nowhere near the cat, who now some condemned to his perch.

Dylan climbed down and Ms. Dylan's Mom was quick to grab his wrist and wrestle him home, much against his will as he complained that he still had more schemes of grandeur.

It was decided that only the brave men in red were up to such a task. They were rang and prompt in hurrying over. Now in the safe hands of the KCFD we (the school group) left to return to our civil duties. Walking backing I stole one last glance. A fireman was descending the ladder, clutching the orange and brown baby close to body.

And there they stood. Almost thirty people huddled around a girl and cat. Here, in the middle of poverty, the world stopped to help. Here the goodness of the human spirit prevailed. Here I found what I believe in.